The Portuguese Wife
by kostanda
Summary: Suppose others found the Valley, either by design or serendipity. Suppose Christy is still undecided in her choice. Suppose there's other ways to look at the usual refrain. Some religion discussed; I hold no favorites, just how this story rolled out .


Disclaimer; of course I own nothing related to the Christy PAX series, the book by Catherine Marshall. My only creation is Eleanor and her son and her husband Alexandre.

The pain went searing deep along my hips and ached in my back like a sweet tender push. It was nearly indescribable, this utter desire tickling my shoulders, while a fire seared through my stomach and lit my womb with agony.

And he leaned over me, his blue blue eyes pouring into my black ones, and I felt the familiar jolt of sorrow and bittersweet joy spill through me, nearly drowning out the intensity of the anguish in my body. I felt more than heard the deep roll of his beautiful voice.

His kindness was too much, and the tears poured down my face in misery that had nothing to do with the pulling and pushing of my limbs. I wanted to be alone, away from the closing cabin walls, and yet in the arms of the man I had grown to love desperately, since the first moment I saw him...

Chapter One

Alice Henderson was a friend from years past. We had met briefly while she was looking for donations for her missions in the Tennessee mountains. Though a several years older than me, we had found kindred souls in one another.

I'd lost touch with her when I'd married and moved to Paris. Alexandre was a scholar and he was kind to me. My mum had hoped that I would make a good match, and Alexandre studied at the university in France. He was open with me, and I became more a student than a wife under him. Though we were hardly passionate, our life together was calm and honest.

He taught me many things. Alexandre, though proper and French, was quite liberal. My Portuguese ancestry was not a matter to him, and he pushed me to be utterly honest in a Victorian society of closed lips. He said he hated the coy coquette and modest behavior of the women of the day. And he would spend his evenings with me telling of the theological studies he was doing with German professors. I learned the history of the Bible, and we developed a new idea of religion between the two of us, though we still went to Mass as was expected of Catholics. The exploration beyond the liturgy was our 'little specialty' he called it.

Paris was good for me. The buildings were beautiful and decorated with curling trimmings. I delighted in the fruit pastries, and shopped with careful airs at the fancy boutiques. We had a nice flat near the Arc de Triomphe, and some days I imagined I could smell the old marble off the decorated legs of the structure and the iron from the Tour de Eiffel. Some days I would walk in the parks near the Seine, and take in Notre Dame and the thousands of birds outside. If Alexandre was long gone, the windows of the church would feed my loneliness with their gorgeous color. And on rainy days, he would take me to the Sacre Coeur and the pebble roads on the top of the hill, and we would see the artists and look over the foggy Paris homes.

But a calm life doesn't last. When money didn't last, we had to go back to the United States to live with his family and Alexandre grew ill and passed away on the roads to the Tennessee foothills. I was devastated, for my mum and dad were in England now; dad's homeland, and I had nowhere to turn. I could not expect Alexandre's family – whom I had never met – to take in his widow, especially as our arrival was not expected.

And so I remembered Alice Henderson, and took it upon myself to visit her. Unannounced.

Chapter Two

"Eleanor!"

It did my weary ears good to hear that warm exclamation from a friendly voice.

"Alice. It's been so long."

She gazed up into my eyes with joy that was only heightened by my own happiness in the company of an old friend.

"You've got an accent now I see," she said, searching for the mundane.

"Yes." I went no further. It seemed my blunt and open honestly had disappeared with Alexandre's death. I hadn't known how much I loved him until he was gone, and so I felt guarded and separated from the world. Even my religion was not enough to make me straightforward at the moment.

Alice didn't even know I had been married. When I was engaged, the wedding plans had been such a whirlwind of activity that I didn't even have a chance to write her of my coming marriage. Part of me wanted to sit with a mug of tea and tell her everything, but I could see this wasn't the place were a body could rest long.

"How on earth did you find me?"

"The last letter you wrote me years ago had a return address," I responded sheepishly. "I've kept it with the meaning to write you...but things happen, and I..." I shrugged. "I asked around, and it was told you were still here. It was a bit of a gamble."

She smiled at me and embraced me again. "I'm glad you've come for a visit."

I inhaled, prepared to tell her that I had hoped to stay there. There wasn't anything left for me in Paris, and I didn't wish to go and spend the next eight years taking care of my mum and dad in England as they aged. I didn't even have the money for passage. Alice was the closest friend I had in America.

But I stopped, choked with the words. How did you go about telling someone what your plans were?? I could hear Alexandre's voice in my head, _"You out and say it, cherie. It's easier every time."_

Instead I nodded at Alice, and was led, suitcases and all, into the mission house.

"Meet Miss Huddleston, our schoolteacher," Alice introduced me to a young and earnest beauty sitting at the kitchen table pouring over paperwork. "And Ruby Mae, one of the girls of the cove. You'll meet Reverend Grantland for supper, I believe."

Again, I nodded. "Pleased to meet you all."

Alice took me upstairs after a round of short talk with Christy Huddleston. She ushered me into a small alcove of a room, done with a thick quilt and a wide window facing west.

"It's been too long, Eleanor," she took my hand and pressed it. "I hope you've been well."

I began to shrug, then looked at her welcoming face. The words tripped off my tongue before I could stop them.

"I was married. That's why I didn't write. Alexandre took me off to Paris...I've been in France all these years."

"Eleanor! Bless thee! And have you been happy there?" Her joy was genuine.

"Yes. I was."

Swallowing more words, I turned away from my dear friend and began to move my suitcases. There was a heartbeat of silence before she said softly,

"I'll call you for dinner. There's water in the pitcher there."

The door was shut, and I sank quietly onto the pillows. How could I fit in here? I was Catholic, with some surprising notions of my own, and everyone here ate Evangelical verses for breakfast. I hadn't a clue as to what kind of world I'd stepped in, but it was nearly a hundred years behind the finery of Paris. What would I do? How would I make a living?

And how could I be other than what I was? I ached to be open and honest, but I felt stifled, as if emotions often were buried here in the valley, and I wondered at how quickly the world could spin out of control.

Chapter Three

I brushed my hair, musing at the face staring back at me. I was mid-twenties, but I sometimes could look older. My Portuguese ancestry left me with curling dark hair and black eyes and ethnically darker skin. Some days my face was weathered and lined, and Alexandre used to say my face showed the setting of the sun and the wisdom of the years all at once. I hadn't understood at the time, but that was his way of saying he loved me.

I'm not a beauty. There's no chance I could win if put beside Christy Huddleston. I'm tall and round-limbed, and my hips are curving, my breasts slightly larger than perhaps they should be. But I used to laugh a lot, and I have smile lines around my eyes and nose.

Now I looked haunted, and sad and withdrawn. I'm not used to the face I see in mirrors now, and I'm not sure I know the person staring back at me.

Alexandre whispered in my imagination.

_"Let it all out, Eileen, and you will be free. Ah, but you say to feel is only painful. Yes, mon cherie, but then this exchange is that you feel nothing at all. And this, this is worse than death. What is this, Eileen love? You say you should have secrets, and not speak of them, for they are painful too? Why perhaps there are some worth keeping, but then we must ask; why have them if not to share?"_

He'd called me Eileen. For some reason, it fit better in his soft voice. I didn't mind it, usually, and now I missed our talks and our musings more than anything else.

There was a knock at the door. It was Alice, telling me it was time for supper. I turned in my wooden seat, and said quietly,

"I've much to tell you. It won't be nice things, but I must be honest."

She nodded, stepping into the room. "Would you rather not speak at the table?"

I put down my brush, stood, and deliberately cleared my dress. "No. For the others must know sometime, and this saves you the trouble of repeating."

She took the lead down the narrow steps. I shuddered with each step. I had no desire to tell everyone about Alexandre, but I felt his spirit driving me to say the words. He would have wished me to continue living as we had. And he was probably right...the more I said, the easier it would become.

Besides, if I wanted to live here permanently, I ought to start on the right foot.

Chapter Four

When I stepped into the kitchen, Ruby Mae was dishing out a concoction that looked highly suspicious.

Christy Huddleston was already picking at the lumpy gray mess.

"What kind of possum is it this time, Ruby Mae?"

The red-head grinned at the teacher. "Hit's a sur-prise, Miz Christy."

Glumly nodding, the pretty young woman glanced up and then stood as Alice and I walked in.

"Good evening. Are you refreshed?" she asked kindly, her large blue eyes meeting mine. I felt like I towered over her as I crossed to the chair next to her.

"Yes, thank you."

The door opened to our right, and I looked over the schoolteacher's head, prepared to meet the preacher Grantland.

"Miss Huddleston, Alice!"

It was a rumbling deep brogue that shook my core, and the barrel-chested man that walked into the room captured everyone's attention. My eyes swept quickly over his broad and burly frame, taking in his unruly red locks and piercing blue eyes.

"Neil, meet Eleanor, an old friend of mine," Alice quickly interceded.

The man moved to me, reaching out his hand. "Hello. Doctor Neil MacNeill, the physician of this valley."

It was a jolt. I remembered Alice mentioning her daughter had run off with a Dr. MacNeill many years ago. She had been quite broken about it, and it was one of our last correspondences that she had wrote, saying she had followed them into the mountains. I glanced at Alice, but she smiled benignly at the man. Had she and her daughter reconciled?

I caught a whiff of wood smoke and pipe, and a pine and musk that was comforting and wild. There was a vivid vitality that stretched around him, and as I grasped his hand in greeting, I felt a strange, overwhelming passionate crash that ran through me, embedding itself painfully in my chest and searing through my belly.

This was a man I could love with an undying utter crazy love. One that was boundless and ardent and fulfilling. This love could be more than the happy contentment of my life with Alexandre, this could be a love that would last me for the rest of my life.

And the exact moment that I realized this, I saw his gaze flicker to Christy Huddleston, and beheld a love betwixt them that was brimming with unspoken desire.

And the moment after this, I knew I had to shove this amazing love deep into my breast, and bury any chance of loving this man, and knew that I could not vie for his love, for it was a race I had already lost.

And I remembered Alice's daughter Margaret. Where did she fit in this mess?

All this ran through my body, and I sat faintly after he released my hand.

We sat to eat, and the Reverend Grantland came in. I met him, but was unimpressed. He looked to me like many of the lost souls wandering Paris in search for inspiration. I was surprised how possessive he was of Christy, and wondered at the intricate web of relationships I had stepped into.

Dinner progressed, but the talk was strained. I at first wondered that it was my unfamiliar presence, but then realized that the air hung thick between the two men and the schoolteacher. It was suffocating, and I felt pulled to talk, anything to take my mind off the heat radiating off the individuals at the table.

"I must tell all of you many things," I began. Their heads came up over the coffee cups. I felt a strange calm settle over me as I cast a secret look at the doctor's hands. Everything about him was so sturdy, and so obvious to me. He was not a complicated puzzle of theology and philosophy like Alexandre. I could see through this Doctor MacNeill as if he had been made for my eyes.

Drawing a breath, I began,

"Ten years ago, I left England with my husband, Alexandre, for Paris. I was young, not yet sixteen, but my mother was Portuguese born, and I was expected to marry at fourteen or so. And Paris was good for me, for I grew up there, and Alexandre was very kind and gentle to me, and did not care that I learned the ways of the theologian and scholar. We were content."

I could not bring my eyes up to meet anyone. Part of me was surprised how matter-of-fact my story sounded.

"We returned to his roots to stay with his folk in Tennessee three weeks ago. I...it was a sudden thing, but Alexandre took ill quickly and has been...dead these past ten days. I knew Alice was in the area - at least I hoped she still was, and as soon as formalities were finished, I came calling. Please forgive my sudden intrusion, but I must ask...is there a place for me here?"

Finally bringing my face up, I met Alice's understanding gaze, and Christy's open and earnest sympathy. I could not read the Reverend, and the Doctor was staring, bemused, into space.

Alice spoke quietly, "David's sister Ida has recently married. Thee could take her position as housekeeper here. There will be homely duties, but then Ruby Mae could devote more time to studying."

There was a gentle chuckle from the Doctor, who put lowly, "Come now, Alice, you're just tired of possum surprise!"

The Reverend snorted, glanced at me, then Christy, and stood. "Capital idea, Alice." He took away his mug of coffee, and disappeared into the kitchen. Christy soon followed after a gentle word my way, and the Doctor went after her.

I stared at Alice across the table. "I didn't think it would be so easy."

She gave me a look. "It's not permanent if you don't want it to be. You're used to a life of city living in Paris. These mountains can be unforgiving. This could be your home for the rest of your life, or a quick resting spot for your soul."

"I'm Catholic, Alice. Please don't go evangelizing on me, I beg you." I rejoined light-heartedly.

She gave me a little chuckle. "I'll try not to."

We drew silent, and then I asked the burning question, if only to learn more about the man that still occupied my mind.

"How is Margaret?"

The smile on Alice's face dropped instantly. "She's been dead these past four months."

"Alice!" I reached across the table. "I'm so sorry. Did she make peace?"

"No. After she ran off with Neil so long ago, she left us one day. We believed her to be dead. Several years later, she returned." The woman seemed relieved to be lifted of the burden of the story. "But sick with tuberculosis, she quickly disappeared again, only to reappear as a dancer at a tea house nearby. I cannot tell you the emotional upheaval...!"

Alice's eyes met mine. "She was close to your age, you know." She gave a small grin. "How much you've grown since I last saw you. Margaret...she didn't want to change. After she came here, pleading for a home with Neil, and money from me, she discovered she didn't have a place left in our hearts. Christy had come, and taken over our lives with the joy that young woman has in her spirit. Margaret left when she saw that Neil didn't want her, and we received word not long after that she'd become sick in Atlanta. I traveled to claim her body. We needed to make sure it was really over this time. And it was. It is."

I shook my head at her reverie. "And how does Christy get mixed up?"

She laughed a little. "That, I think, is a story for another evening."

Chapter Five

Three days later, I washed clothes out on the porch as Christy came out of the mission house with several papers and a notebook in her hands. She sat demurely near me and took out a pencil, her brow furrowed. I beat the clothes steadily, then finally asked with curiosity,

"What are you working on, Christy Huddleston?"

She glanced up with a warm, childlike smile. "Theology. It's usually David's forte, but it helps to give a lesson once in a while to make everything more understandable for the children."

I felt the stir of the scholar in my breast. Alexandre had me grow up with words and wisdom and study. It was a part of Paris that I missed more than the long cobbled streets and the wafts of perfumeries.

"What are you discussing this week?" I asked as I crouched next to her, my hands still wet from the soapy water.

"Abraham."

"Ah," I reached into the remembrances of late evenings, circled by the cigarette haze of Alexandre's fashionable smokes, and his tranquil voice matching my low one in the exploration of theological musings. "What about Abraham?"

"He was the forefather of Christians," she began slowly.

"And of Jews," I reminded softly. "We must remember our Jewish roots as Christians."

"You're Catholic. Alice told me," Christy said softly, glancing at me. "Is Jesus a part of your life?"

I stared at her directly. "I suppose so. But not as you are thinking. My religion does not evangelize as it used to. We don't speak openly. We hope our examples and our deeds are enough to show the world our love for God. Perhaps we should go back to proclaiming our devotion. There was a time when we did. But Catholics have long been persecuted. Even now."

Christy's eyes widened. "Really? Where?"

My face hardened as I tried to say the words kindly, "Right here. On this porch. In this mission. Every time my belief in Jesus is challenged, every time it is questioned whether my Catholicism is enough, that is persecution in its own way. To be told that one will stay in hell because one is simply Catholic, is that not persecution? I hear preaching of an all loving God, yet then how can it be said he is choosy? Isn't this a paradox? My faith believes in the good of all people. If God is so loving, he does not send a person directly to hell on account of dogmatic practices; it should be from the soul, which is betwitx a person and his Maker. Do you truly believe a loving God would send someone like the atheist Doctor MacNeill to hell for being, as you say, "unsaved"? In deep fundamental essence, our beliefs are the same, only our practices and traditions are different. There is nothing wrong with this. My religion accepts the practices of yours, we do not ask for you to change. Cannot yours do the same for mine?"

She stared at me, breathless. I realized I sounded much too harsh. I waited for her to speak. Instead, she turned her eyes down and began to silently weep.

"What is it?" I asked kindly. "I didn't mean to make you cry. Here then, take my handkerchief."

"It's not your lecture. You're right, I guess. It's just...you're so broad-minded and worldly. I couldn't ever hold that much questioning in my head. I...I like it simpler...I mean, it's not simple, but it so pure and without question. It's...it's like Doctor MacNeill. He's so complex, there's so much to him, I can never keep up..." Her head came up, and the blue eyes looked violet in her tears.

"Has Alice told you?"

I shook my head, and stood from my crouch, relieved that she had not taken offence at my religious tirade. "No. I assumed there was a story, but it wasn't my place to ask."

Moving to my wet clothes, I began to swish the water around, arousing the bubbles again. I felt Christy come behind me, and her small hands took up a dirty towel. As she dipped it delicately into the water, her soft voice came to me,

"Five months ago, David asked me to marry him. It was the worst...and the best...day of my life. The years I had spent here, almost right from the start, were tangled between the Reverend and the Doctor. It was...like a love triangle, I suppose." She gave a little laugh and grabbed the soap.

"But when Margaret was discovered to be alive...then things changed. I still didn't want to commit to David, but the Doctor was married. It was a tough time to worry about things like love, but when Margaret returned the second time, well...I literally stood between the two men and had to make a choice."

"And?" I prompted, my voice catching. I hadn't seen the doctor since the first night, and even the mention of his name brought my heart racing.

"I couldn't do it. I begged a headache and heartache and left. I only recently returned from a break with my parents in Asheville. I'm afraid I've been stringing them along. Now, with Margaret gone, I don't know where things stand."

Her gentle openness made me smile, in spite of the fact that I had discovered that Doctor MacNeill did indeed feel for the young schoolteacher. The moment she described the scene, my whole being stilled, and now I struggled for composure.

"I'm sure the Lord will answer your questions," I commented. There was little I could say to such a story.

There was a long pause as Christy hung the towel on the line. She made her way next to me, and looked at her writing. Finally, she said shyly,

"Perhaps you could teach the theology. I could probably learn something from you. All I ask is that you don't confuse the children too much." She gave a tiny laugh. I smiled in return.

I could teach theology.

Chapter Six

I went through the next week in a stage that could only be described as utterly too clear. It was becoming more and more obvious to me that Cutter Gap could be my home. The mountain people were leery and wary, but they were more open than I could have hoped. I think the presence of a past African American doctor helped with the acceptance. Some of the more stingy of the mountain men were not pleased with another member of 'thim mission-folk" but there was little I could do to stop their displeasure.

Most nights I cried myself to sleep. I missed Alexandre, and I missed the comfort and stability of my home in Paris. Part of me wished to go back, but I didn't have the money to keep our flat in the city. Heaven knows I knew what happened to those who couldn't make a wage in France, and I knew I was better off here in the middle of the mountains than back in Europe.

It was good to keep my hands busy during the day, and I liked the short theology lessons on Thursday and Friday afternoons. Alice had been skeptical of my teaching abilities, but Christy won the day by explaining that she would be present and available for any questions the students might have. Apparently, they were afraid my Catholic notions would be too confusing for the fragile minds of the children!

But in the end, the lessons were superb. They had great probing minds, and I was very impressed with the direction Christy had given them.

"So, Missus Eleanor, I cain't understand them characters. How's they th' Bible?"

I smiled at Creed Allen, then turned back to the backwards alphabet on the board. "They are the Hebrew letters; aleph, bet, gimmel...just like our A B C."

Zady Spencer raised her hand. "An' it's a lost language? How's one git lost?"

As her questions fell into the air, the doorway darkened with Doctor MacNeill's tall frame. A slight tremor found its way through my legs and belly, then I continued,

"Well, the Old Testament was written by people before Jesus was born, correct?" The children nodded.

"They had an old language, called Hebrew. They wrote all the stories of the Old Testament in Hebrew on long scrolls rolled like this only much bigger." I took a piece of paper and rolled both ends in together. "But many of the Jewish people, or Jesus' ancestors, got spread all over the world as time went on. The scrolls got lost, and everyone forgot about Hebrew. Many years later, some old men came and decided they would try to relearn the old language. They are called the Masoretes. But it was too late. The original Hebrew was lost, so we don't know what the real Old Testament said. But we can guess, and we are pretty sure that what we read in English is close to what the old Hebrew really said."

"But it'll never be sure, huh?" asked John Spencer.

I shook my head. "Sadly, no. That's why we can't read the Bible literally, at least the Old Testament. We have to remember it's history as a book."

The children all nodded, and then Christy stood. "That's all for today. Have a happy weekend, children!"

As they all sprang from their seats to go outside in a rush, Doctor MacNeill came to the middle of the room, his eyes drifting between me and the schoolteacher.

"That was quite an interesting lesson, Mrs. Bonafoux."

I shook my head at his use of my French surname. "Please. My name doesn't fit in here. Call me Eleanor."

He nodded, and looked at Christy. She blushed bright red, and suddenly busied herself. "I should get in to help with...with Ruby Mae. You'll lock up, right Eleanor?"

I watched with amusement as she nearly fled from the schoolhouse. Doctor MacNeill watched her leave, then turned his eyes onto me. I sat quickly, before he could make me blush and faint as well. Whereas Christy saw this man as a complicated puzzle, to me he was an obvious mix of passion and science. It was intoxicating.

"You're quite worldly, aren't you?" he said in his great lilt. "I've seen your sketches of Paris that were left on the table yesterday."

"Ah..." I laughed quietly. "La source d'inspiration est infinie. Paris seduit, Paris enchante, Paris se chante. Paris est une muse."

He stared at me for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed heartily. The noise made me feel warm and enveloped. It was heady.

"All this culture! And yet..." Here his blue eyes hit mine. "Yet all I've heard from everyone is how well you've fit into life here."

"I was born in the foothills of England," I reminded. "In a way, this place is in my blood."

He regarded me closely for a moment. "Yes. I suppose so."

As I began to clear my papers, he came up and studied the board. "This is Hebrew?"

"Yes. Alexandre taught it to me. He got it when he was in Germany learning about the Torah."

"Your husband must have been very learned."

I shrugged. "He was much older than me. I was lucky to have such a wise, kind man as a husband."

"You miss him." The Doctor's observation wasn't impressive. Anyone could tell I still mourned my husband.

"Yes. I'm sorry it's so obvious. I know time heals all wounds."

"They do." He looked at the floor, then back at me. "They say you're Catholic. I think you're the only one in the Cove."

"And you're the only atheist."

"Why are you teaching Jewish things then? And you aren't pushing your religion."

"It's not the way of the Catholics. We don't feel the need to evangelize. It's not our views that it is our responsibility to get others to accept things they are not prepared to learn. And the Judaism. It's interesting, isn't it? I learn more about Christianity with Judaism. Jewish tradition is the roots of my faith."

He looked at me, struggling with words. "Your faith is so different from...from theirs."

"Is this bad?"

"No...I just. I always have questions...maybe you could answer them?" I was startled by the hopeful light in his eyes.

"Maybe..." I hedged. "I'll try."

There was a long pause before he put quietly, scuffing his toe in a crack of the boards,

"I'm a doctor. I see so much suffering. If God is all loving, then why does he allow it?"

I smiled slightly. "It's human pride and arrogance that makes us believe we can and should have a direct answer for every question. Some of the bigger questions aren't for us to know. That's what faith is. Accepting the mysteries of life. Faith is…holds a germ of doubt by its very definition. Faith is accepting that there are no true facts. But in truth, you need the faith to recognize that some suffering - all suffering - is for good, somehow, in some great grand scheme we can't imagine. If people did not get sick, how could we learn to heal them for future generations?"

He stared some more at the crack, then nodded mutely. As he walked out the door, my body cried out to touch him, to speak more and hear his delightful rolling accent. I ached to have his strong arms around my body and feel his heart pump below his flannel shirt. The red gold of his hair caught the afternoon rays, and I desperately wanted to ride with him to his cabin and stay there for the rest of my life.

But he gave a quiet thanks, and looked as if he needed time to reflect. So I had to let him go.

That evening, I discovered that I carried Alexandre's child in my womb.

Chapter Seven

It was difficult to refrain from discussing my pregnancy with the mission folk. I knew they'd support me and be excited, but I was torn.

Part of me was thrilled to have a child given to me to remember my union with Alexandre. I was excited to be a mother, and knew that my life would become richer with this babe's birth. But I feared what Doctor MacNeill would think of me. Would I be less attractive to him in this way? Even though I knew he only had eyes for Christy Huddleston, I couldn't help but wonder if he found my gaze ever, or if he glanced at my figure and face and thought me pretty.

It was vanity that kept me from telling him. I knew, as the doctor, he ought to know about my pregnancy. But it was too painful to tell him. How could I describe to the man that loved Christy that my heart lived and died with his arrival and departure? What would I say? That I half wished the child I carried was his? This was impossible. Words caught in my throat; I, who had once been so revealingly open with them.

The months dragged onward. In my fourth month, I finally had to dissemble to Alice, Christy, and the Reverend. Ruby Mae also found out by eavesdropping, but such was the nature of the girl. It couldn't be blamed.

By the time I reached the fifth month, my growing stomach was too big to hide. I became worried that the doctor would see me and know of my condition. It didn't occur to me that he would have to deliver the baby.

It was lucky he was busy with an epidemic and an outbreak of the chicken pox in other neighboring valleys. He didn't hardly come by the mission for weeks at a time.

But the good luck wasn't to last. I was in the middle of pulling bread from the oven when the kitchen door was slammed open and Doctor MacNeill strode in. There was fire in his footsteps and vivid energy radiating off his body. He threw his saddlebags on the table and marched to my side where I bent over the oven.

"Move. Now, Eleanor."

"I've got to get the bread–," I started, only to have him very deliberately grab my arms from behind me and lift me as if I weighed nothing and place me to the side. I watched in disbelief as he took the bread loaves out of the hot interior. If it wasn't for his obvious displeasure in me, I would have been pleased at the situation. He was taking care of me...

"I'm very angry with you right now, woman," he barked, after setting the bread on the window sill. "There is no excuse for your silence!"

"You've been busy," I began sedately. He shook his wild head and pushed his face into mine. I smelled the smoke and pine and musk and made the mistake of looking into his blue eyes. My voice faltered into silence.

"I've not been so busy that I can't check on you. Pregnant! Lord, woman! Suppose something would have happened! What would I do then?"

"Probably be angry with me."

He glowered. "I'd be with a mess on my hands, that's what. I don't care how new you are to the Cove, you're still my responsibility..."

"No I'm not! I'm fully capable of taking care of myself! Haven't I proven it yet?" My own temper rose with the heat of his.

"Aye, you've proven it. But that's not my point. Eleanor, you've got to let me examine you. It's not to be taken lightly...you could have complications, you could have–."

"I've been fine," I interjected. "I would have sent for you."

"Oh sure. Aye...like you've sent for me when you learned of your condition? Upstairs, now." It was slightly delightful to hear his brogue thicken in his anger.

I opened my mouth to protest. Before I could speak, he'd grabbed my elbow, and marched me up, dragging his saddlebags along the way.

As we entered my room, I put casually, "Mind me asking...how did you find out?"

"Ruby Mae's always a good source for accidentally dropping hints," he put roughishly, obviously secretly pleased with uncovering a mission secret. I looked again at his beloved rugged face, and impulsively reached to touch his cheek.

"I'm sorry, Doctor MacNeill. I should have sent for you. I...I couldn't."

"Why not?" He was listening for my vital signs, his eyes staring at a point on the wall. When I touched his face, his eyes met mine again.

"Alexandre was the only man to ever touch me. I...your touch is...it's very gentle. And I...I was afraid that you'd think badly of me..."

He stopped me, and I suddenly felt a connection with the Doctor. It had always been lacking. He'd never really seen me, and I suddenly felt that when I would be in the same room as Christy, he would notice me there too. We could be friends, at least.

"I wouldn't think badly of you, Eleanor. It's a...a blessing that you've got the child of your dead husband. It's lucky, aye?"

I stared up at him. "Did you just say 'blessing'?"

He chucked deeply, a sound that tickled my senses. I tried not to concentrate as he prodded my body, and ignored the pull of heat in my belly that had nothing to do with my baby.

"I've thought about what we discussed in the schoolhouse. Needless to say, I have many questions yet, but I feel now there are a few answers that may help in my...ah...scientific search, shall we say?"

I suddenly realized he had trusted me with a new secret of his own. I nodded silently in understanding, then sat up as he stood.

"All's in order. There'll be a few check ups before you deliver. Understood?"

"Of course."

As we made our way back to the kitchen and he walked to the door, I called quietly,

"And I won't tell, Neil."

He paused, and flashed me a calm and contented grin. It looked so correct on his face, and it made my heart pulse quickly. Then he was gone, and I still felt the warmth where his hands had touched my body.

Chapter Eight

The porch became the place where Christy and I would have many conversations during the spring and summer. I learned much of her background, and listened to her struggle with her faith. Slowly, I began to understand why Alice had adopted this young woman as a daughter. Christy was not only a beauty, but she truly was a good soul.

Alexandre and my life in Paris seemed to belong to another person. It was routine to teach the backwoods children, and to visit their families in the squalor of their cabin. Life in Tennessee almost picked up where I had left it, in the simple happy manor of the mountains. God had worked a miracle in my life.

It helped that I could speak to the mission folk about my thoughts and emotions. Even Doctor MacNeill became a tentative confidant. But it was Christy that I slowly began to bond with.

"I can't decide, Eleanor," she came out beside me one day in late August. I stood with my overlarge stomach protruding from my body, my back slightly arched with the weight.

"Are we discussing the triangle again?" I asked, trying not to be tired of the subject. Christy, in my opinion, was not ready for marriage if she could not make a decision. Some days I think she still thought there was an inkling of a chance to be with the Reverend, but I knew she still held out for the Doctor. The fact that the two could never seem to communicate on a normal level gave me hope. Perhaps they were not so well matched as I had thought.

"Yes," she admitted, and leaned against the banister. "I see so many different things in each of them...I only bring this up because David was making side comments to me today. Something about me being a silly girl, obviously not able to make a mature decision." She sighed. "It stung, a little."

"Well..." I began, but we were interrupted when Doctor MacNeill came swinging up to the mission on his horse. My heart stopped, as he had the sunset at his back, and his body was a black outline that was overcast with a red and golden hue. He looked to me the other half of my life, but what could I say to him? That the moment I was in his presence, my entire essence fell into place?

"Hello Neil!" Christy called warmly. He climbed halfway up the stairs and looked at us. It was in this moment that I realized what he saw.

Christy stood leaning outside the shadow of the balcony, her entire face awash in rosy glow, her round cheeks and limbs a delicate feminine balance. Her tiny hands reached out for the package he held, her violet eyes shining in the light. There was a shimmer in her smooth hair, and an earnest youth in her approach.

And then me, standing slightly behind her, tall and, yes, strong, but not as feminine. I had the curves of a woman, but my height changed the look of my body to one of power, not beauty. My black hair was curling in the heat of August, half pinned back, trailing haphazardly down my back. And though my skin looked auburn and dusky, I knew there were lines of age on my face. To complete this, I knew I looked swollen and overlarge.

There was absolutely no contest.

"I've brought these for Alice. It's to replenish the medicine stock here."

"I'll take it in for you," Christy volunteered, and left us alone on the porch. The doctor climbed the rest of the way and stood in front of me, his probing eyes looking down into my face.

"How are you feeling, Eleanor?"

"I'm..." I couldn't look at him without feeling a sob stick in my throat.

"Are you not feeling well?" Carefully, he touched my face and turned me to look at him. Aching I met the caring gaze.

"No!" I murmured softly and lowly. "I feel ugly...I feel undesirable and disgusting. Perhaps it's the heat, but I...I stood here next to Christy, and I detested my body."

By now, the doctor was used to my trained honesty whenever it showed up. It was, as always, slightly relieving to say how I felt. I saw a smile flicker around the corner of his face and waited.

"Look at me," he nearly crooned to me. His face leveled to mine, and I held my breath.

"A woman who is with child glows. There is a softness, a gentle nature that she cannot help. It is the look of the expectant hopeful, the pleasure and secret of the babe in her womb. To me, I would come home to my wife, and see her standing there, and I would touch our child with care, as if I could share in that glow. A woman in the blossom of pregnancy is the most beautiful sight to any man with eyes." He paused, then decided to finish. "And I have eyes."

His words had more effect on me than I wished to admit, and I nodded silently, still holding his face. We stared at each other, unmoving, until a creak from within the house made him move away. As he went back down the steps, I raised a hand half way to my hair. He thought I was beautiful?

"Neil!" I called to him. He stopped, and I made my wait cumbersomely down the stairs, feeling thrilled that he waited patiently for me. I brought my hand up in the gesture that had become common to exchange between us. Touching his face, I said openly,

"Those words will be within me forever. A thanks is not enough."

"Ah, really then?" He began, and before he could finish, I turned his cheek and planted a feather light kiss along his jaw, for it was all I could reach. He pulled back quickly, startled, and I saw the questions pile up in his mind.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I put, quite shaky in the knees now. He nodded mutely and got on Charlie, riding into the fading light. In the early dusk, I climbed back into the mission house, my lips tingling.

His words echoed in my head and circled in my belly. He had said I was beautiful.

Chapter Nine

Fall is my favorite time of year. The walks are always eventful in finding gorgeous leaves and little hidden glens of colorful trees. Though I wasn't allowed to go far from the mission in my late pregnancy, Doctor MacNeill had given the orders that walks and fresh air would do the more good than locking me in my room.

I reflected on the past days. Christy had started fidgeting in a terrible fashion, and I'd begun to feel as if the end of the waiting was drawing to a close. It worried me, but most of the time I was too busy with preparing for my baby. Doctor MacNeill came often to check for me, and in a way, I blessed this babe, for now I had an excuse to be alone often with the man. He always looked at me with some unfathomable light, and only yesterday did I understand it.

Alice had informed me that there had been a time when Margaret was first brought to the Cove that she had been pregnant with Neil's babe. Through the complications with an illness, they lost the baby. It was after this sickness, when she was barely well enough to move about, that Margaret left. Alice thought that when the woman had disappeared in the rain storm, she had begun her deterioration with the tuberculosis that eventually killed her.

It was with this thought that I felt my first labor pains. It was griping and slightly unnerving, even though I was prepared for my birth.

My breath caught, my chest tightened, and I felt as if my uterus cried with sudden strain. Putting my hand to my back, I took in my bearings. The Spencer cabin was nearby, and if Fairlight and Jeb Spencer were around, perhaps I could rest there before getting to the mission.

As I walked carefully, I felt a desperation come over me. Doctor MacNeill would surely be sent for, and I would have to endure his gentle administrations on top of giving birth. This thought made my heart cry out. How painful this will be...not physically, but spiritually.

Did many women in this world bear a child with the aid of the man she loved? One that didn't love her back?

I reached the porch of the Spencer cabin as my second pain caught me. Startled with the quickness of the labor, I realized I might have underestimated my condition. The moment I had my breath back, I called out,

"Fairlight! Jeb! Anyone home?"

To this day, I remember how I welcomed the regal and open face of Fairlight Spencer. She took one look at me, and hollered for her husband.

"Jeb!! Git out here! Missus Eleanor's 'ere and 'er time be nigh! John! Zady! You' uns run fer Doc this minute!"

Barely had she uttered these directions that the yard scrambled to life. I didn't know how she had appraised my situation so fast, but then again, she'd had many children in her time. Jeb came to carry me into the cabin and a bed, while the older children went at a dead run in the direction of the Doctor's cabin.

There were several tugs and pains in my belly before Jeb finally got me situated. Fairlight took to the stove and started boiling some pots of water in a determined manner.

"Please, Fairlight, I should get to the mission house," I protested vaguely. Already the room was swimming a little on the edge of my senses.

"Yain't in no shape ta be a'wandrin' bouts, and ya shore ain't up for a trip enywhares," Fairlight chastised as she sent the younger children upstairs.

I was griped by another pain that tore through my body and struggled to get comfortable in the ebbing aftermath. My eyes regarded Fairlight in watery consciousness,

"Fairlight, perhaps you could just help me...I...I'd rather..."

My slightly slurred speech was interrupted when there was a consistent pounding outside, and a very worried and disheveled Doctor MacNeill came in a desperate dash into the house.

"Met–Zady an' John–on the road–where is..." he wheezed, and cast about until he saw me tucked into Jeb and Fairlight's large straw mattress and quilts.

"'er pains be comin' real fast, Doc," Fairlight informed him. "I gots the water a'goin' already."

"That–that's fine, Fairlight. That'll do very well."

He moved to me, calling over his shoulder, "Could someone go grab my saddle bags?"

A flurry of moment went to the door, and then we were alone. I stared up into his eyes...they were so blue...

"Stay with me, Eleanor," he said lowly, brushing back my hair. I knew he took great care in every patient he'd ever had, and to have that kindness given to me, when I hoped for more than he wanted to give, was a captivating torture. "It'll be going quickly now."

Nodding silently, I closed my eyes against tears. Neil MacNeill was here...Alexandre was gone. I would have given much to share my joy with the doctor...but instead I wanted him to leave me alone, to go to Christy Huddleston and leave me and my babe to live. Conflict raged in my heart and my mind slipped to the physical as the birthing began in full force.

The pain went searing deep along my hips and ached in my back like a sweet tender push. It was nearly indescribable, this utter desire tickling my shoulders, while a fire seared through my stomach and lit my womb with agony.

And he leaned over me, his blue blue eyes pouring into my black ones, and I felt the familiar jolt of sorrow and bittersweet joy spill through me, nearly drowning out the intensity of the anguish in my body. I felt more than heard the deep roll of his beautiful voice.

His kindness was too much, and the tears poured down my face in misery that had nothing to do with the pulling and pushing of my limbs. I wanted to be alone, away from the closing cabin walls, and yet in the arms of the man I had grown to love desperately, since the first moment I saw him...

"Come, Eleanor! Soon, now, it will be over."

I was aware of Fairlight's hand squeezing mine, and the Doctor's hands caressing my knees and legs, his confidence mixed with his anxiety. It was unclear to me what was going on, but I was aware that other people were milling about. I thought I saw Christy's face, tear stained and worried. Perhaps something was wrong?

And then there was nothing but Doctor MacNeill's voice. It flowed over me in a deep roll, and I was lost in his touch and tone, until it seemed I was in a trace, one that I awoke from only when his voice stopped, and then I realized the pain had diminished.

Christy was indeed there, standing in a corner with the doctor. They were hurriedly moving, and I saw a bundle cradled in Neil MacNeill's arms. My child! For the strangest reasons, my very arms ached to hold the babe.

"Please!" I whispered, trying to sit up.

"Wait fer the doc." It was Fairlight, still at my side, pushing gently on my shoulder. "Rest ye here a spell."

I succumbed to her, but my eyes, still watering, followed the doctor's every move. My child! Alexandre's one legacy! I silently screamed, wanting to see the flesh of my body.

Finally, it seemed hours later, the Doctor came to my bedside, his large hands nearly enveloping the tiny bundle he held with utmost care.

"It's a boy, Eleanor," he told me softly, bending fluidly and placing the child in my overeager arms. He then sat carefully on the foot of the bed, his eyes watching. I saw Christy out of the corner of my eye standing in the door with the Spencer children. Eyes watching...it was strange, for I had always thought this process to be more private...

"I will call him...Raimundo...Raymond after my father. Raimundo Alexandre...Bonafoux." I struggled for words as I stared at the tiny face below me. He seemed so beautiful, and so small. Hard to believe how much I'd swelled with his tiny frame inside me. Wondrously, I caressed his hands, and watched the workings of his little mouth...

So so little...

Suddenly, with the mother's intuition that comes with the territory, my tired head jerked up to meet the Doctor's waiting gaze.

"What is it?" It was not convincing when his eyes slid from mine. "Neil?" Panic filtered into my voice.

Doctor MacNeill dragged his face back to look at me squarely, and he put quietly,

"He's little, Eleanor. Weak. He's...he's early. It's the best way to describe it." His hands spread helplessly. "Sometimes that happens. We don't know why, it just..." He shook his head. "He'll require special care. And lots of mother's milk. It's going to be a bit of a waiting game for a bit. Do you understand?"

I did, only too clearly. If my little boy didn't make it...I would be utterly alone.

Chapter Ten

We moved to the mission in a few days, in a carefully padded wagon, with little Raimundo nestled into my arms protectively. It was too early for him to be anywhere but in my bosom, and I only wished he would drink more, for my breasts ached with nourishing milk. Neil said time would help, but still I wondered how long before my boy became a strapping lad like his father.

As the weeks wore on, I was utterly surprised, and happily content with the fact that Doctor MacNeill began to treat my Raimundo as his own son. Part of me wondered if he felt guilty for the nature of the child's birth, but then I saw him carrying the baby one evening on the porch.

His pipe lay forgotten on the chair, and he bounced the boy carefully, never taking his eyes from Raimundo's face.

"Ah, wee one," he crooned softly. "You're growing good and strong. You've got a pretty mum to take care of, and she needs you. And you've got a man here what's going to help you all your days, for you're going to need some, seeing as your poor papa is in heaven."

There was a quiet coo from my boy.

"Ayup. Heaven, wee boyo. But we're not going to go yellin' to the world on this, aren't we? And you'll grow up, I know ya will, Raimundo...such a name for a little one. It's your Portuguese mum who's caught on this new-fangled fancy name, aye?"

I hid a smile at Neil's unconvincing barb.

"So I'll call you Hi, even though 'tis spelled different, it sounds like a grand nickname. You're American, so we'd best be leaving your birthing name for your wedding day!"

I started to move back into the kitchen, having found my answer. Doctor MacNeill felt no guilt at Raimundo's birth. He simply ached for a child. And mine would need a father figure. The fit was perfect.

At this thought, I passed a hand over my eyes. I wanted to give my boy so much more. A real father, not a surrogate. I wanted a real home for him to grow in, and more brothers and sisters. Such simple things, yet all within my reach. Even for my boy, I couldn't marry a man I didn't love, for my mother had always said _"A home without the love, why, this is no home but just a house. Best you give twice the love alone if it ever comes to this."_

"Eleanor?" I jerked from the room, as the Doctor's voice filtered to me. Apparently, my shadow had distracted him, even with all the care I'd taken to remain invisible.

"Yes, Neil?" I moved back to the doorway. He was looking at me in the late dusk, the twilight fading softly at his back. In his overlarge hands he held Raimundo's head and buttocks, so the baby looked to be sitting in the doctor's hands.

"Look at him!" His voice carried pride and...perhaps love? I moved my gaze from the one man to the new one in my life.

And then I saw Raimundo's dark eyes open wide, his pupils gathering the light and shining in the gloaming with expectation and delight. As he met my gaze, a delightful squeal emitted from his wide mouth, and an overlarge grin cracked over his round cheeks.

"Hi's all grown up, Eleanor. He's going to be a strong and inquisitive one, eh."

My heart ached at the sight of the great man holding the small child. I felt tears pulling at the corners of my mouth, and inhaled sharply. What I would give to have this man as the father for all my children!

"May I take him?" With a will of their own, my arms took back what was mine. As much as I loved to see the doctor with my son, I was reminded too quickly of the picture that could never be fitted together.

We stood in silence as I pressed my child to the doughy flesh of my stomach. I couldn't hardly tear my eyes from the small wonder in my embrace, and moved to the banister, juggling the babe, nearly forgetting the man on the porch with us. Alexandre would have been proud of his son.

It was perhaps a moment or two before I felt a touch on my shoulder. I looked up, startled to see Doctor MacNeill standing directly behind me, so much that I could feel the warmth of his chest on my back. Instinctively, and without thinking, I leaned back slightly, my shoulder curving into his. His curls brushed my face as he leaned over me to look at Raimundo, whose eyes were gazing up at us with interest.

"I've always wanted children, you know," the doctor suddenly confessed. "Now that I...I've been reading...I wish I could have had the chance..."

"Reading?" I asked absently, more thrilled that he was dissembling anything to me than actually listening to his words.

"The Bible, Eleanor. I've...I went to see the priest in El Pano. The Catholic Church has agreed to work with me, answer my questions. It's...a process, but..." There was a shrug, and he fell silent for a moment. "But I wish...now, more than ever, for a babe of my own."

"I'm sorry. I mean–I'm so overjoyed you've started exploring faith." I tried to swallow my words, but they came anyway. "Christy is still young. Perhaps–."

"No!" His accent thickened suddenly. "Let's not talk about that. I'd rather...enjoy this." And he slowly and deliberately put his arm around my shoulders. It was an informal gesture, but it touched me, and we stood there for a long time, soaking up the evening and early stars.

It was only after the doctor had left and I got back into the mission that I saw the book and cold tea cup near the open window.

Christy Huddleston had seen us. She didn't speak to me at breakfast the next morning.

Chapter Eleven

It went on like this for a day. At first I thought she was busy, or working hard with her lesson plans. But the Sunday dragged on without a sign of difference in Christy's attitude. This was so different; in all her Christian practices, I had hardly thought jealousy would be prominent!

She sat on the porch studiously ignoring me as I hung up the clothes, my baby boy laying on his back on a blanket in the early spring weather, and pulling contentedly at his toes.

As I finished pinning up the sheets from her bed, I glanced at her lowered face and squared my shoulders. This wouldn't do.

"Wish you had a baby?" I asked roughly, gathering Raimundo into my arms as I approached her seat. Her head jerked, but her eyes slid away from me.

"Of course not. I mean, someday, I hope...I–I don't even have a husband."

"Neither do I," I countered, then sighed. I didn't wish to bicker, and Christy was obviously stinging with something else.

"Look, I wish you'd let me know what's bothering you. We've got to teach together tomorrow, and I'm sure the distance between us is palpable."

I moved to sit in the chair next to her, and heard a tiny hiccough of a sigh escape her.

"I–it's nothing, really."

"It's got to be the Doctor, then," I stated sedately. "He's the only topic that flusters you...that, and deciding which man to pick."

"Eleanor!" Now I had her attention. "Don't say that!"

"It's true," I countered. "Though you don't have anything to worry about. I'm old and punchy with the birth of Raimundo, and I'm not nearly as captivating as your freshness."

"Do you think I'm jealous?"

"I'm saying you needn't be."

She fell silent, again wrestling with inner questions. If that was one thing that I found disconcerting about Christy Huddleston, it was that she held back from speaking and feeling.

"But you've got Raimundo. He's...the doctor..."

"Oh, Doctor MacNeill loves my boy. But that's as far as it goes. His love doesn't extend to me. You know you've had that since you arrived in Cutter Gap."

She looked over the lawn, still quiet. Finally, I realized what I needed to do, and perhaps it would be best for me and for Christy.

"If...if it would make you...less uncomfortable, I can limit my time with the doctor."

"He's your friend too!" she protested lightly.

"Yes, but..." I stopped, realizing now was not the time to be completely honest. "I think it would be best for all of us. I don't want Raimundo growing up with misconceptions about his family unit, and now's as good a time as any to start."

I stood up resolutely and walked into the house to put my boy into bed for a rest. As I moved through the kitchen, I felt hot tears pull at the corners of my eyes, unbidden and stinging. How difficult this would be!! To stay away from the man I ached for, who I would give so much to walk beside every day!

In the end, I knew my decision would be healthiest. Why should I torture myself with his presence, when I would never earn his love?

Putting Raimundo in his crib, I leaned against the railing of the bed, and let my pain wash through me in silent wrenching sobs.

I would miss him, the doctor that had healed my heart!

Chapter Twelve

Four weeks later, my resolve to stay away from the doctor crumbled when he sought me out in the kitchen.

"Eleanor. How are you?"

I half turned at the beloved voice, noticing he leaned casually against the door frame as if he belonged there, looking at me.

"Hello Neil. I'm fine, thank you."

"I've missed you. You've been avoiding me."

I smiled at his directness. Though his manner often confused Christy, who thought life ought to be guided by what not to say, I understood the doctor's demeanor.

"Are you sure you're not saying this because you miss my son?" I countered.

He regarded me, waiting until I faced him fully. His blue eyes met mine unfailingly.

"No. I've missed you, Eleanor. And of course, Hi as well." A grin cracked his face before he became serious again. "Why've you been ignoring me?"

I shook my head. Some things should not be said openly, no matter how true they were. It wasn't my place to discuss Christy's heart. Besides, wouldn't my confession drive them together?

In an effort to continue to keep him at bay, I went back to the bread I was kneading. I felt him step behind me to the bassinet nearby, and heard the rustle of the cloth as he picked up Raimundo.

"I'll not leave until you explain, Eleanor," he told me, standing behind me and jouncing my boy on his hip. I looked at him, and desperately wished the picture I saw would last, that he would be mine.

"Christy–she–it's a woman's matter," I faltered, then decided that I trusted Neil, and Christy trusted him as well. Someday things ought to be said.

"I know of the love triangle between you three here. It's so obvious you can feel it. She's been...jealous of the time we spend together. I don't know. I wanted to avoid her feeling uncomfortable. It's probably best," I rationalized shallowly. "Raimundo will only be confused as he grows up."

I saw that my words had heated him, and I was positive that it was the joy in knowing Christy still felt for him, that there was still a chance after his wife's interference.

"Confused how? That I am his father? Never! Eleanor, I do not intend to replace Alexandre, only to be a male figure in an otherwise womanly environment for Hi. I would never let him grow up with that misconception."

"But–!" I halted myself, wondering at the words I wanted to say. What if I wanted Raimundo to have the Doctor has his father? I found the right things to speak in a second. "But I don't want my son growing up with a ghost for a father, either."

He stared at me, and I was surprised he was not overly thrilled with my confession of Christy's thoughts. I continued openly,

"I know there are barriers between you and Christy. I think one of them might be my son. It's been hard on her."

"Only your son?" he countered, and I was stunned at his implied meaning. Surely, I didn't mean more to him than a friend? My heart soared without warning.

"And you're not her faith..."

"I'm Catholic. Or nearly." His eyes lightened, and he shifted Raimundo to his other arm. "It's not shoved down my throat, it gives me all the time I need for reflection." He smiled tentatively. "I get baptized in eight weeks."

"Neil! Congratulations!" I moved forward without thinking, and pulled him into a hug, my arms circling around his broad and burly chest. I felt one of his strong forearms reach round my waist while he held my boy to the side with his other, and the rough brush of his cheek scraped deliciously along my forehead.

"Thank you, Eleanor. It's been quite an experience."

"Have you told anyone?"

At this he released me slowly, and looked at me fully. "No. Can you imagine...how could Christy understand this? That we see faith differently? Not that there isn't two different Gods, but that there are different manners and traditions. She'll be crushed."

"But you're a believer. That should be enough."

Why was I encouraging this? Perhaps because I felt that he needed to get her out of his system...or never get her out, and ought to make their situation permanent, lest I sit and wait in hopeful silence for years.

He stared at me. "You're quite the woman, you know. You and I...we see things the same way, don't we?"

"Aha!" I laughed a little tremulously. "We see Raimundo, in that we see the same things."

I took my son from him, but he grabbed my hand. "I didn't mean that in such a way, Eleanor."

Shaking my head, I moved away. "I know."

Later that evening, I saw him approach Christy in the garden, as the sun was dying in melting, slow cool colors.

I didn't ask what had been discussed, but there was no word from either of them, and it wasn't my place to pry.

Chapter Thirteen

Fall crept upon us without warning. Soon school would begin.

I saw Doctor MacNeill more often than I would have liked. Though Christy didn't seem to ever be jealous again, I was still wary of where I stood with the doctor. We spent time with Raimundo together, and it grew painful to every day be faced with the woman that had stolen Neil's heart. I didn't envy her, for I knew her sweet nature and beauty were honestly bourne, but it chaffed my spirit.

By the time all of us had struck an unspoken balance that let us get by every day without discussing matters of the heart, I realized why the Cove always seemed to suffocate me.

It was the unspeakable things, the secrets that crept into one's soul and stayed there, laying heavy on the breast and breaking one's heart. I didn't like it a bit.

Everything changed when the Reverend Grantland decided to propose one last time.

I was finishing mopping the upstairs when I heard pounding footsteps and Christy came headlong up the stairs, nearly crashing into me in her haste.

"What is it?" I caught her securely as she stumbled with the slight collision.

"David!" she whispered, and I saw she was crying. "He's–it's an ultimatum, and he means it. If–my answer. He's done with waiting for me to make up my mind."

"What?" I was equally stunned. Did the man really think that pressure would work?

"David proposed again. For the last time." She shook her head. "I need to pray."

She pushed past me purposefully and closed the door to her room. I heard the distinctive lock turn, and shook my head. Turning back to my mop, I had barely begun to clean again before there was another step on the stair. Expecting it to be the Reverend, I looked up with a sharp word to stay away, but it was caught on the air when I saw it to be Doctor MacNeill.

I'd never seen him so tortured. Our eyes locked, and he said lowly,

"I saw it all. Is she..." he glanced past me to the locked door.

"In there." I jerked my head in a fast movement.

He moved past me slowly, approaching Christy's room with caution. I continued to mop as if I knew nothing of the drama unfolding. He was the man I loved, and I felt I deserved to at least hear my own fate.

"Christy?" His Scottish brogue carried through all wood. "Will you let me in?"

"I can't." Even I could hear her. The silence, besides the swish of my mop, was intense.

"Please, Christy. We need to talk."

"I don't have the energy to bicker, Neil. Leave me alone for a bit, please."

He paused, and I could feel the resolution in his posture. "You need to hear me out; I'd rather not through a plank."

"Neil–." Her own resolve was just as stiff. "Later."

"You must know, lass. I love you, Christy. You've had to know it...please, let me see you when I tell you. I love you."

I had thought I could handle hearing the words, but I didn't realize the impact it would have when they weren't spoken to me. I'd dreamed of him speaking in such a way, my nights were filled with his voice. But at the moment he confessed, so openly, so honest, I realized that my heart couldn't handle it any more.

Determined to go before I could hear any more, I slammed the mop with more force than I had planned, and grabbed the bucket, my knuckles white with unexplained feeling. Without looking at the man, I stumbled blindly down to the kitchen.

Once there, I fell to my knees, automatically tackling the floor around the table. I didn't realize how much water I spilled over myself, and that my hands were raw with the cold water. All I could hear was his voice over and over, professing his love to another woman.

It broke me more than I had thought.

A step behind me didn't even make me pause. It was only when I smelled his distinctive scent that I realized he was crouching next to me.

Glancing up, I said quietly. "I'm sorry...I...didn't mean to impose on your moment upstairs."

"You're crying, Eleanor," he interrupted, and touched my face lightly. I turned my face away, and stood up.

"Does she know you're a believer?"

"Aye. But...it might not be enough. She won't talk with me." He shook his head, looking away.

Suddenly I knew he needed to leave. I could no longer be the person in between him and Christy. I could only be an outsider, looking in. I could not listen to his woes about another love. It wasn't in my nature to be so tortured, and since there was nothing I could do, I must remove the problem.

"You need to go, Neil," I whispered, moving away from him. "Please go."

"Is that all I am told by the women in my life today? To go away?"

The teasing in his voice did nothing to appease me.

"Go. I can't...I cannot be what you want me to be. I cannot be your sounding board for your love for Christy. Please, don't force me. You have to go."

"I'll stop by tomorrow."

"To see Christy. Not me."

"I'm sure you'll be here, Eleanor," I could tell he was confused.

"But I won't...I can't talk to you. Not even about little things."

"Eleanor!" He moved to me, but I shifted out of reach. His touch would be painful. "You're acting crazy! What is it?"

"It's irrelevant. It really is. You'd best go. I don't want to end up making it harder for you."

It was a relief when he moved irresolutely to the door. Watching his broad back, I felt the overpowering urge to run to him, but I swallowed it with a bitter taste. I moved back to my wash water, but he turned in the door swiftly, blocking the afternoon sunlight.

"I'm a scientist, Eleanor. I can't leave without knowing your mind."

Part of me wanted to believe he said such words because he loved me deep inside. But I knew that his staunch behavior was the stubborn Scot and the inquisitive scientific curiosity. It had nothing to do with my beauty or even my son. He was just wondering; just as it was my nature not to listen to his professions of love for another, it was not his nature to exist without answers.

Shaking my head, I said firmly, "It's not the right time to discuss this, Neil."

"I think it is."

Sighing, I straightened. Could I deny him anything? Staring straight in his eyes, I met the blue with the black of mine and said,

"I love you, Doctor Neil MacNeill. I've loved you with everything since the first moments I saw you. You've won my soul and my heart."

I felt my head swim as I finished miserably. "And I don't expect your love. I never have."

There was a stifling silence that was only broken when I heard the shift of Raimundo standing up in his crib. Breaking eye contact with the doctor, I went to lift my son out, holding him tightly to my breast, pressing him against soft tissue of my bosom.

When I finally grabbed the courage to look at Neil again, I was stunned by the utterly devastated and tortured look on his face. His hand slowly came up to his brow, and then he buried his head savagely into his palm.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I didn't mean to add more pressure to your life. Please forget I've ever confessed."

He shook his head silently, and raised his eyes to look at me. "No. You can't erase those words. Love might be able to change, but it cannot simply die, be forgotten."

His voice was broken and deep with unshed tears. Abruptly, he shifted and spun on his heel, leaving the mission porch and jumping onto his horse.

As the hoof beats left the yard, I set Raimundo on his unsteady feet, and tottered a few steps with him before crouching down and cupping his face into my hands.

"You're my light and my love, my son. I am blessed to be so lucky." His chubby face cracked into a wide, toothless grin as he stared into my eyes. He was a happy child, and I only wished I could give him more. I would have to be enough for both of us.

Chapter Fourteen

A week went by, and there was no change in Christy, or the situation that smothered the mission with hushed conversations and unspoken feeling. I spent as much time as I could outside, as the weather turned crisper and the trees began to change color again.

It was difficult to believe I had lived in such a place for nearly two years. How time melted in the Cove. Paris seemed a long ago dream world, and Alexandre had long ago faded into a cherished memory.

Yet I was unused to my son's unruly curiosity. He was an energetic boy, already wondering at all sights and sounds of the forests. He was surprisingly quick at learning words, and he had successfully picked up walking.

One afternoon, I was hanging up clothes as Raimundo pattered about the yard. I was singing a Portugese love song my mother often sang to my father, when I looked about in my habitual glance for my boy. He was missing.

"Raimundo!" I called, lowly at first, expecting to see his little dark head popping up from behind the woodpile. When I didn't see anything, I called more urgently,

"My son! Raimundo!"

Panic set in almost immediately. There were so many dangers in the forest, around the yard!! He couldn't have gotten far, so I began circling the house, as fear and desperation took hold of my breath.

I took out at a half run over the wide hill of meadow beyond the yard, my skirts a hindrance in the tall yellow grass.

"Raimundo!!"

It was windy on the top of the hill, and my heart tore out of my breast in agony. He couldn't have gotten lost! It couldn't happen!!

And then I saw him, walking up steadily and with purpose towards me, his eyes bright and warm, his vitality reaching me even with the distance.

Breaking into run, I ran up to Doctor MacNeill and bent swiftly without a moment's thought, and scooped up the boy holding tightly onto the Doctor's finger.

"My boy! My boy!" I cried, sobbing into Raimundo's hair, caressing his small head and tightly hugging his tiny body. "I thought I'd lost you!"

Swaying gently, I stroked his back, and kissed his fingers, delighting in their reality. I couldn't have gone living without my son!

Finally grasping myself, I looked up to the doctor, and was stunned and shocked to see tears streaming down his weathered and rugged face. I stared at him, as he looked back unabashedly.

He approached, his hands moving restlessly, as if he wished to grab and embrace both Raimundo and myself.

"Neil? What is it?" I still clutched my son to me, but I was fascinated by the unlikely show of emotion playing across the doctor's face.

"Eleanor," his voice was husky with feeling. "I was just struck...when I saw you holding Raimundo, I saw...I saw my life, how it...might be."

"You want children," I began quietly, but his waved his hand impatiently, then reached to stroke my son's thick swath of light brown hair. His fingers brushed my cheek in their movement, and our eyes met again.

"You know I love Hi as my own. But that is not relevant to..." he paused, then plunged ahead. "When I saw you holding so tightly to him, I saw you...you as my wife, holding my children, all of them...You suddenly fit as the mother of my children, in an utterly real, shatteringly honest way. I know this, Eleanor. And it's not because I'm so desperate for a family. I love you, Eleanor. Just you, completely removed from my love for the boyo."

My throat felt choked, and at Raimundo's whimpering did I realize I was crying, my tears matching Neil's, and dripping onto my son's head. I shook my head, finally gasping,

"Christy? You said you loved her only days ago..."

He gave a short bark of a laugh. "I needed to say it. It was buried so long I'd nearly forgotten what it really was, and it...was final and healing to out with it. I did love her, like that, once. After the years went by, that love changed. I said love can change, Eleanor. It can. And you...you grew on me. When I saw you pregnant with Hi, I knew no other woman had looked so beautiful to me, and I didn't want to have that explained, not even in my own mind..."

He shook his head. "With Christy there are questions and no answers. With us, there is curiosity, but we fit. You can read me. I feel that I puzzle Christy, and with you, all I see are strong, honest answers. Perhaps there was a reason Christy and I never seemed to understand one another. I realize that now. You cannot force what isn't meant."

Finally wiping his tears, he reached to brush away mine. I felt as if everything was crashing in blinding light and joyous music, and yet so real and grounded at the same time. Still, I disbelieved.

"I still can't...it's so utterly amazing."

"What is? That I love you? That I wish to swear to be your husband, to sleep beside you forever, to raise a family together? Aye, it's amazing."

He was so forthright, so honest. I blushed unwittingly, and set down the squirming boy. He plopped down on Neil's boots, and proceeded to pick at the laces.

"Now, Hi, don't be trying to make me trip and fall!" he laughed, a little hesitantly, and bent to swing the boy into the air. He squealed with delight, his mouth opening in a thrill. I realized that this vision could really be mine, and not a dream. The tears began fresh.

"Neil. You've obviously thought about this."

"Didn't take much, actually. 'Bout a night. Then it's taken this long to get the courage to up and seek you. I didn't know if you wanted to see me right away."

"I always want to see you," I blushed again, feeling young and pretty under his loving eyes.

"Care to see me every morning?" he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Doctor! We shouldn't be discussing this in front of my son!"

"He will soon be mine as well!" he crowed, swinging Raimundo again into the air. Then he turned serious and gazed intently at me.

"You will marry me, won't you Eleanor?"

I laughed a little. Did he think he needed to ask?

"Of course, Neil love."

He grinned, took my hand to draw me close and envelope me in a tight one-armed embrace before he pressed his lips to mine, kissing me ardently and passionately.

Epilogue

Neil got his dream. We had five children together, and Hi was raised as Neil's own firstborn. We were desperately happy, and I was blessed every morning, when I woke to my husband's unruly hair and rugged beloved face.

Christy Huddleston did not marry Reverent Grantland. She taught for eight years before leaving the Cove to take another post in the next valley over. We heard later that she married one of the mission men there, a carpenter, and they were much satisfied.

So the pain I had felt in childbirth changed, turning into a daily ache. Yet it was a good ache, one that was so happy and so fulfilling that it was pleasure and the great love I carried at the birth of my son Raimundo was spread tenfold as every year passed.

The End


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